To Touch
by Itanohira
Summary: Please, please, stay away from me. / My touch will kill you. / Spamano, AU, multi-chaptered.


Ahahah...hi guys. I'm back! /waves

I don't think I'll update 'Tomato' soon. Aghhh.

And to **Kay** (**Kay the Beta**), my wonderful, wonderful beta! This story is much, much better than what I would be able to produce normally - and that's all because of you! Thank you! (Did I also mention you were wonderful? ;3)

disclaimer: **:P **

**.**

**Poison**

**.**

It's a sad thing, really.

He remembers the first time he realized his touch was poison. _He_ was poison.

Feliciano - _oh god, Feli_ - was cold, so cold like how his own fingers were - _are _- cold; colder than stone, colder than unfeeling steel. It is the cold that creeps among the dead.

He remembers staring down at Feliciano, who was on the floor, a ghostly remnant of his smile on his face. Shock was apparent in his wide brown eyes, and it served as a slap to Lovino. He dry heaved, fear gripping his body, mixing in with confusion and regret_._

_Why_?

Feliciano was so happy to see him - his older brother - after Lovino had disappeared for so long. It was only a hug; just one simple embrace. Yet one hug was all it took.

And now, Feli was six feet under.

Anything he touches dies and no, - he laughs bitterly as he thinks this - not in the sense of silly little relationships or withering plants. No. He wishes it was, though. Instead, people really, truly die because of him.

It isn't hard to know who - _what_ he is. Unless, maybe, it is. He laughs again - and it is soft and bitter and hard and _not_ at all sweet like Feli's. It could never be like Feliciano's, whose laughter always brightened up the atmosphere, and was always full of life.

But Lovino is death.

He doesn't need to breathe. He doesn't need to eat. He doesn't need to sleep.

Lovino still tries sometimes, when in the deepest throes of his self-pity. He _tries so fucking hard _to be human again, yet he still fails, as always. He hates how _easily_ his body rejects his efforts. Lovino feels as if he's suffocating every time he tries to breathe - the _irony -_ and his stomach rejects whatever he eats. He doesn't even try to sleep any more, doesn't try to regain any sense of his past normality.

Hell, he even tried going outside. Lovino knew he should have listened to his conscience, who was screaming at him to live a solitary life away from everyone.

The first strike was Feli -

-the second, an elderly man he had brushed against slightly. He didn't even realize what had happened until the man had dropped onto the sidewalk-

-and the third strike -_ oh God_ - the third strike was a young girl. Her eyes silently accused him in their dull brown - brown, just like Feli's - depths.

It was after his third victim - _it was just a touch, just a touch, I didn't mean it, didn't, didn't, didn't -_ that he decided to stay inside.

Most people wouldn't be able to bear the thought of not going out of their house in a year.

Lovino would tell them that it was quite easy to stay inside for decades.

After all the years inside, the only rooms he ever used were the living room, bedroom, and sometimes, the kitchen, to practice cooking food he would never eat. After his eleventh - no, fourteenth year inside, he had wandered into the bathroom. He had expected to see something old and defeated to reflect back, to see the way the years of stress and guilt had affected him, but in the dusty mirror, he hadn't seen that; instead, there was an image of someone he had never expected to see: his still twenty-four year-old image staring back at him.

He absolutely lost it. He slammed his fist against the mirror, brokenly crying out. The cracks in the glass surface spread from his clenched fist like a spider's web, distorting his reflection. He picked up various items in his blind fear from the cabinets and threw them in disarray against the mirror, thick globs of cream and lotion splattered across the reflective surface.

When the mirror was covered completely, Lovino slumped to the floor, pressing his hands against his face, hoping this was all a dream.

It wasn't.

-x-

He's scared; scared of a lot of things.

It is almost nineteen years after he killed his brother before he even thinks of picking up a gun.

It is a few years after that when he actually picks one up with shaky hands.

He sits in the corner, contemplating, pistol clenched in his trembling grip. Should he? Should he not? It's like that flower game Feliciano used to play when they were little, all of those years ago.

_He loves me._

_He loves me not._

_He loves me._

_He loves me not._

_Pull the trigger._

_Pull the trigger._

"Pull the trigger."

Lovino doesn't.

He's scared; scared of a lot of things. Dying is one of them.

-x-

It's twenty-four years - now he's twice as old as he was when _Feliciano _died - when Lovino gets the courage to stand outside. His neighborhood is quite empty now; most of the houses are in need of a new paint job, and houses he can vaguely remember having many occupants now seem to be empty. It's quite disturbing.

Lovino walks, careful to avoid any living, moving creature. He is on autopilot now, and his body is taking him to a place he remembers going to a long time ago. His memory is all fuzzy, and he feels so old, mentally, yet physically, he's so young, too young.

He keeps walking until the sidewalk slowly blends into a dirt trail that leads to a small forest. It's quiet and empty, and for Lovino, it's heaven. Or at least as close as he can get to it.

He does this every day, and only a month has passed when he sees a man.

He's tan and bright and lively and not at all the dead thing that is Lovino.

This man scares him, and Lovino stays away from him. But despite his clear effort to get away from him, the man still seems to be mystified by him, and doesn't stop staring. Lovino decides to leave the forest, despite the other's accented calls for him.

A week after that, Lovino goes back to the forest. He meets the man again, but the tanned man decides to block his path when Lovino tries to leave. Lovino steps to the side, and the man mirrors his movement. They do this for a few frustrating minutes. _It's a dance_, Lovino thinks, as he tries to find a path around him. He can't go without touching him, and visibly slumps when he realizes this. The man, sensing Lovino's defeat, smiles, and holds out his hand.

"My name's Antonio."

Lovino stares, frowning slightly, and let's out a hoarse, "Lovino."

The man looks surprised that Lovino even answered, but it's a pleasant kind of surprise. Lovino likes it.

Before anyone can say anything, Antonio looks at his watch and his eyes widen comically. He runs off, tripping slightly as he turns around to wave goodbye to Lovino. He turns before Lovino can wave weakly back.

Lovino's face is burning, and he can't quite ignore the frantic beating of a heart that shouldn't be beating.

-x-

He goes to the forest everyday in hopes that he'll meet the lively Spaniard again. He doesn't.

Lovino still goes, though.

Even if every night he tells himself he won't go again, in the morning his heart is beating ever so slightly, telling him to_ go, go, go. _So he does, and one day, weeks after their last meeting, he finally sees Antonio again.

"Lovino?" It's actually Antonio that finds Lovino first. Lovino turns around stiffly, and he can feel the starting of a blush spread on his cheeks. "It _is_ you!" Antonio takes a step forward to embrace him, but the Italian quickly steps back, avoiding his hug. Antonio looks slightly hurt at this, but Lovino mentally shakes his head, thinking how much the Spaniard's hurt expression would wound him less than seeing him dead.

The silence enveloping them after was awkward, and neither says anything at first. Antonio shuffles slightly, and blurts out, "How have you been?"

Lovino mumbles a quick, "Fine", unused to talking with another human being after being alone for so long. Antonio scratches the back of his neck, and he brightens up as if he was struck with a brilliant idea. He sits down against a tree, and pats the spot next to him. The Italian plops down beside Antonio, trying to put as much space between them as possible.

Antonio quickly learns that Lovino dislikes physical contact. At least, that's what he thinks.

They talk, and that's all it is, really. Antonio talks about little things, things Lovino would have thought of as shallow if it were anyone else - the weather, his house, a person he said 'hi' to - but Antonio puts everything in a new light; a light that seems to reach Lovino. Sometimes Lovino talks too, but it is nothing personal. Antonio doesn't mind him being closed up the way he is. He just smiles, nodding whenever appropriate, genuinely interested in the little things that Lovino has to say.

Lovino trails off and shifts uncomfortably, signaling that he's done. He has the strangest _urge_ to just lay his head against Antonio's shoulder, and to fall asleep. _Too bad you can't do any of those things_, his mind snarkily remarks. He ignores it - though it _is_ hard to try and ignore oneself - and lets out a soft, "Antonio...?"

The taller man replies with a content, "Hmmm?"

Lovino scoots the barest fraction of an inch closer to Antonio. He's not sure _what_ exactly he's trying to convey to Antonio, but he is sure whatever it is, Antonio will know what he's trying to say. Lovino wishes he could say something with more meaning, something worthwhile, but all he says is, "Why?"

Antonio smiles, but doesn't answer.

It's more than enough for him.

At the end of the day, they're watching the sun set from a clearing in the forest, the sun dipping into the trees' silhouettes. A bird coos somewhere in the distance, and Lovino takes a chance by scooting closer to the Spaniard. Antonio gives a soft smile, but doesn't move to fill in the small space between them. The sun slowly disappears behind the trees, dying the sky a vivid pink-orange, and Lovino cannot help but think how _perfect_ and right this is. He wants - no, _needs - _to hold Antonio's hand and hold him in a tight embrace. Antonio straightens up, and pushes himself up.

"Lovino." The Italian looks up, waiting for Antonio to speak. The Spaniard opens his mouth, but pauses. "This...I had a good time." He smiles, and Lovino feels his cheeks burn.

Antonio gives him one more smile, mentioning something about work in the morning, and offers to walk the other man home. The Italian declines, and gets up to leave. Antonio leaves in the opposite direction, and Lovino feels a pang of something inside of him - loneliness? He almost reaches out to Antonio to stop him, but instead stops himself. He watches Antonio walk away leisurely, and Lovino can't help but feel as if he's in a dream, the sunset's curtain of light tinting everything in the forest a soft gold.

Despite the soft hints of sadness lingering in him, Lovino, for the first time in a little more than two decades, smiles.

It's soft and warm and it makes him feel - if not a little bit - alive.

-x-

They don't meet as much as Lovino would want them to.

It's only a few times, three times a week at the most so far. They talk a lot, but they also sit in companionable silence. Whenever he is in Antonio's presence, Lovino forgets that his touch is dangerous, forgets that he has caused so much death.

Lovino still doesn't let Antonio touch him. When he closes his eyes, he can _feel_ Antonio's breath near him, feel the Spaniard's body heat when he shifts closer curiously, the air of wanting to touch something that shouldn't hanging around the Spaniard. Antonio never does touch him though, and it relieves yet disappoints Lovino at the same time.

It's one of those times right now, and Lovino can feel the other's eyes bore into him. The Italian opens his eyes, and gives a soft smirk-smile; Antonio smiles back.

"What is it?"

Antonio just smiles some more, and his fingers reach out to Lovino's cheek without touching him. "I wish I could hold you." Lovino stilled, frozen to the spot as he stared back at the confusing man. Antonio, still not touching him, leaned forward, his mouth dangerously close to Lovino's ear. "Won't you let me?" His tone almost makes the Italian comply.

"N-no," Panicking, Lovino shoots up, cursing himself for almost killing Antonio.

"Why not?" Antonio leans back against the tree, almost as if he wasn't in front of Lovino just split seconds before. Lovino sits back down, eyeing Antonio cautiously.

"Just." Lovino bites his lip, looking away. "No."

"Sure, Lovi." The nickname rolls off of Antonio's tongue smoothly, and he is pleased by the soft blush and surprised look Lovino is suddenly donning when he turns back to face him.

"W-what? What was that name...?" Lovino knows the embarrassment flooding his insides has leaked out in the form of his now reddening cheeks. He wants to demand that Antonio stops saying that name, but he doesn't, just like how he wants to demand that Antonio continues to say it.

"Lovi." Antonio closes his eyes. "My lovely Lovi."

-x-

It's an accident, a slip. A _mistake._

Just like that little girl all of those years ago. Just like that old man.

_Just like Feli._

He had kept up the no-touch policy up for so long, with so much success. _This _wasn't supposed to happen_._

He had let his eyes close for a rest and a chance to imagine: What would this have been like if he was normal?

It wouldn't have mattered anyways. If he _were_ normal, he would be well into his forties, and most likely would have never bothered with the cheery Spaniard, or anyone else for that matter, except for maybe Feliciano. He inwardly winces; his brother's name still seemed to stab him in the gut, even after all these years. With his eyes still closed, he tilts his head to the side away from Antonio.

What would Lovino want more?

Never become _this_, this killer he has become, and still have Feliciano, or...

...stay how he was before, and never meet Antonio...?

Lovino opens his eyes, and sighs. Even if he _was_ normal...

Why couldn't he have both of those things? This simple, wonderful, _amazing _thing he has with Antonio _and_ the life he had before? To be honest, he doesn't know what he would pick - he knows he'll break in some way with either choice. Lovino let his hands drop from their position on his lap to the leaf-covered earth, slowly crunching the dry foliage with his hand. His eyes slowly droop close, and his chin tilts forward.

This is when it went wrong. So impossibly, horribly wrong. If Lovino had anything to confess, he would have to say that he _enjoyed _it immensely - before the realization of what was happening hit him, of course.

A large, calloused hand caressed his cheek ever so softly, and he let out a shuddering sigh. It suddenly stopped, and Lovino's eyes snapped open immediately, facing the shocked Spaniard in front of him.

_No, nonono._

Lovino couldn't move, and if he could still breathe, he bet he would have stopped breathing right then and there. Antonio was still unmoving, and every second he didn't move only made Lovino feel as if he were dying.

_Please don't be-_

"I'm sorry." Antonio says quietly. He retracts his hand, and is scared by Lovino's continued silence. He feels his heart thunder against his ribcage - did he do something wrong? Did he cross the line? The questions of failure and breaking Lovino's trust ran a thousand miles a minute through his head. When he heard the Italian finally make a noise, he was instantly plunged in relief, only to be pushed back into his previous fear and confusion.

Lovino, his Lovi, is crying, hiccupping, _breaking down_.

"L-Lovino, _querido_, I'm sorry!" He cries out, shifting forward to hold the Italian, but quickly remembers to stop. "Please, stop crying!"

Lovino, still bawling, shakes his head and blubbers out incoherent words; they're all mashed and strung up together, and Antonio, for the life of him, cannot decipher what he's trying to say. Antonio, still confused, decides to throw all caution to the wind and embraces Lovino tightly, letting him sob against his shoulder. "Shhh, _cariño..." _

He is surprised when, Lovino, the one who denied any physical touch, begins to cling onto him, hugging him back tightly. Antonio embraces him back just as tightly, if not more, until Lovino's wracking sobs slowly halt. He lets his arms loosen.

"You..." Lovino mumbles into his shirt. He doesn't look up to meet Antonio's eyes. "You're not dead." He doesn't even try to sugarcoat it, not even hint quietly at what he wants to say. Antonio looks at him, in surprise, one of his eyebrows arched.

"What?"

"My touch was supposed to kill you."

Antonio chuckles softly. He doesn't really know what's going on with Lovino, but he does know one thing.

"Good thing I can't die."

* * *

DUN DUN DUN aaaaaaaand you guys probably have no idea on what's going on.

Until next chapter!


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